


That's Amore

by firenewt



Category: Compilation of Final Fantasy VII, Crisis Core: Final Fantasy VII, Final Fantasy VII
Genre: Fluff and Humor, Gift Fic, M/M, Prompt Fic, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 04:04:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17821526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firenewt/pseuds/firenewt
Summary: Vincent and Reeve have a little date.





	That's Amore

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EvilRobotCat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilRobotCat/gifts).



> Written for FVII Rare Pair Week 2019, Day 1. The prompt was "date".
> 
> I wrote this for EvilRobotCat, and used two of the prompts she previously provided for FF7 Fanworks Exchange '15.  
> The first prompt was “A serene setting, like dinner or stargazing. (Reeve tends to push and Vincent can’t help falling for it every time)”. The second prompt was “Vincent Valentine: getting dressed. It can be sexy, angsty, badass or cute.”
> 
>  
> 
> Disclaimer: Thanks to Square Enix for letting me play in their world.

That’s Amore

The shirt was too tight. The buttons strained a little when they were done up and he couldn’t raise his arms fully and the collar chafed his neck. His obliques already hurt from keeping his torso as still as possible and breathing shallowly. It was exhausting to have to think about each breath, not expanding his lungs too much, and moving carefully to conserve oxygen. He felt like he was choking. But Reeve was worth it. He told himself this firmly and repeatedly, as he looked in the mirror and considered. 

Reeve had invited him to view the lunar eclipse from the top of the Shin-Ra tower tonight. He had promised it would just be the two of them, and they could have dinner and a drink and the moonlight, or lack thereof, would be terribly romantic. Vincent had his doubts, but Reeve was always so enthusiastic about his little ideas that it was hard to resist him. He had thought it wouldn’t hurt to indulge him one more time. And it might be pleasant, at that. 

That was before he had discovered…or rather, been told in no uncertain terms…that his wardrobe was entirely inadequate for any sort of date, even one where there was no one to see except the two of them. He had taken his favourite suit to the dry cleaner, and when he handed the bundle of clothes over, the fellow behind the counter had chuckled and said that costume parties were always fun. A “blast from the past” was how he put it. When Vincent explained that he was going on a date, not to a party, the man had stared at him with incredulity, then shrugged and told him it would be ready the next day.

Vincent went home, the first niggling doubts starting to eat at his liver. By morning, he was in a full-fledged anxiety attack, and no matter how many times he told himself he was being ridiculous, and that Reeve wouldn’t care what he wore, it didn’t matter. He collected his clothes from the cleaner. The pitying look that the man gave him when he handed things over seared his soul. The two women peering out from the back room with expressions of curiosity and wonderment did not help. If he could have blushed, his face would have been fuchsia. 

He trudged away, deep in depression. With no conscious intent, he suddenly found himself at Hollander’s door, and blinked in consternation. Sure, he and Hollander had a cautious yet convivial relationship. They considered each other friends, as much as either one of them defined the word, and had shared many evenings debating the complexities of the universe while wreathed in a miasma of relaxing smoke.

In any case, it seemed that his subconscious had decided that Hollander was the one to go to in this situation. Although why in the names of all the gods a man that basically lived in a t-shirt and flip-flops would be a good source of fashion advice, he had no idea. But he knocked anyway. At least he might be able to score a little something to calm his nerves. 

And he was not disappointed. Hollander welcomed him with unexpected enthusiasm, and in short order they were ensconced on his mangy couch, Vincent taking deep drags on the cone he’d been handed, and dutifully following along as Hollander worked his way through a large stack of fashion magazines, yattering on at high speed about all the latest trends. 

Finally he had Vincent put on his precious outfit and model it for him. Tutting in awe and disbelief, Hollander circled him, reaching out to finger material he hadn’t seen since his childhood. But his assessment was disappointing. The lapels were far too big. The pants were far too flared. The cut of the jacket was all wrong. The waistcoat (waistcoat?!)…words failed him. The colours were horrific. And when Vincent described the shoes that went with the outfit, Hollander collapsed onto the couch looking like he couldn’t decide whether to laugh or cry. 

In short, Vincent needed a complete fashion overhaul.

But there was a problem. His date was that night. 

It was amazing the speed Hollander could move with when the situation called for it. Before Vincent knew it, he was being dragged from one end of HQ to the other, standing in embarrassed silence while his friend pounded on doors and strong-armed various colleagues into lending him pieces of clothing. While he moaned about not having time for a bespoke suit to be made, Hollander nonetheless managed to collect a very nice, and very fashion forward, ensemble. He even managed to scam a pair of shoes that fit reasonably well. He assured Vincent that they would be fine once he stuffed some paper into the toes so his feet wouldn’t slide around in the extra space. 

Then there was the hair. Back in his quarters, Hollander pointed out how _different_ haircuts were these days. Hollander told him “mod” was no longer “in”. Vincent ran a hand protectively over his tresses and tucked them behind his ears. Hollander insisted that long hair would ruin the whole look. Vincent glared at him stubbornly. When Hollander whipped out a pair of scissors, Vincent drew the line. Hollander thought for a while, then suggested a man-bun. It was that or he would take back all the clothes and let Vincent make a groovy fool out of himself. Vincent didn’t know what a man-bun was, but for Reeve’s sake, he reluctantly agreed. 

Beaming like a proud parent sending his son to the prom, Hollander finally waved good-bye to Vincent, wishing him a good time and telling him he’d take him to the tailor for his very own suit as soon as possible. And then to the barber.

Which left Vincent standing in front of his mirror, staring morosely at himself. He stuck a finger between the collar and his neck and grimaced as it tightened even further. He was going to have a rash tomorrow, he just knew it. The lines of the sky blue silk shirt were clean. The collar looked small to him, but it was neat and didn’t overpower his face, which felt exposed without either his cowl or giant lapels to burrow into. He felt even more exposed with his hair swept up into a neat bun. He turned his head from side to side, thinking that it was one of the ugliest hair styles for a man that he had ever seen, and also that he hated his ears. Hollander had told him it was crisp and sharp and debonair (even though he needed some sideburns and a five o’clock shadow to make the look really pop), right before he had spritzed him with some sort of woodsy smelling cologne. Vincent pursed his lips and sighed.

Slowly he shrugged into the jacket, buttoning just the one button as he had been shown. The charcoal colour really suited him, and was the one thing about the whole get-up that he liked. The pants felt far too constraining and…short. They weren’t, actually, but without two feet of extra fabric swishing around his ankles he felt bare. The shoes were a bit big, but the paper in the toes worked, and he could walk without tripping. Though they didn’t have the platform-like soles that he associated with haute couture, they were quite comfortable and he liked the sleek look when they were laced up. They reminded him of the shoes he wore as a Turk, and those, while perhaps not beautiful, were comfy and practical. 

At least he knew how to knot a tie. While this one was a diplomatically striped charcoal and blue and covered the shirt’s straining buttons rather well, it was nowhere near the banner-sized one he wore with his other suit. Although, he had to admit this one wouldn’t get in the way as much as that one. He could get on board with that.

Finally he adjusted the blue silk handkerchief so that it peeked out of his breast pocket just so; picked up a small wrapped package; started to take a deep breath and then stopped himself and felt his shirt buttons again to make sure they were all still there and all still done up; and headed out the door. 

Reeve was pacing around the roof of the tower, impatient and yet nervous. He had come up earlier, setting up a couple of chairs and a small folding table and covering it with a white cloth, which he weighted down with two crystal glasses and a couple of clips over the edges of the table. The wind up top could be unpredictable. He had a picnic basket set to one side, and a pair of binoculars in their case. Although this was meant to be a casual date, he had decided at the last minute to wear a tux, and with his dark hair brushed back from his high forehead and his beard carefully trimmed, he resembled one of his robot cats. All he needed was a pair of cat ears, a tail and some whiskers. 

The sun had set. The last bit of light was fading from the western horizon and it was getting darker. Reeve had asked Vincent to meet him at dusk; technically he wasn’t that late, but Reeve worried that he wouldn’t arrive at all. It wasn’t beyond Vincent to duck out of things he felt uncomfortable with, and Reeve knew he still felt unsure of what it meant for them to be together.

But then the door to the roof opened, and there he was. Reeve actually gasped. He had never seen him with his hair up or in a modern suit…or a suit of any kind! And this one was just per…as he came closer, it became evident that it was _not_ perfect. It didn’t fit quite right, and Vincent walked a bit awkwardly, like he had a wedgie and was resigned to having to deal with it rather than fix it. Reeve stifled a giggle at the thought, and went forward to meet him, hands outstretched.

“You came! I was a bit worried you might not! You look wonderful!” he gushed. And it was true.

Vincent hesitated, not used to compliments. But, he reminded himself, Reeve was nothing if not sincere. So he graciously nodded. “So do you,” he said. And it was true. Reeve in a tux was stunning. Sleek and charming and a bit rakish. He felt himself smile in spite of himself. 

Reeve took his arm. “Come and sit down,” he said. “The moon will be up soon, and I thought we could have a little rooftop picnic in the meantime.” He steered Vincent to the table.

While Reeve was busy with the basket, Vincent took advantage of his back being turned to carefully lower himself into his chair, relieved when all the buttons held and he was able to sit without being strangled by either the pants or the shirt collar. Then he was able to turn his attention to admiring Reeve as he bustled about, placing a single red rose in a tiny vase on the table between them, and uncorking a bottle of wine and filling their glasses. 

Then he placed a flat box on the side of the table and seated himself. Vincent’s nostrils twitched at the smell of hot pizza. “I hope you don’t mind something a little more casual,” Reeve said, putting a couple of pieces on a paper plate and handing it across the table. “It was easy to bring up here, and, I mean, who doesn’t like pizza?” He paused, his natural enthusiasm faltering a bit as he remembered that food and drink weren’t exactly a necessity for his companion.

Vincent accepted the plate. “No one I know of,” he said gravely, and Reeve grinned, reassured. He served himself, then picked up his glass and raised it. “To dark nights, and the heavenly bodies that illuminate them!” he declared, and winked at Vincent, who would have squirmed if his tight clothes had allowed it. 

“To heavenly bodies,” Vincent returned. The glasses clinked, they sipped and Vincent held Reeve’s gaze intensely until he blushed. Two could play that game.

“Uh, yes, well, yes,” Reeve sputtered a bit and took a larger drink of wine. “Try the pizza!” he said brightly. “You’ll never guess what kind it is! I asked for the most romantic kind they had!” Vincent groaned inwardly. Reeve carried on. “So it’s got a cream sauce and bacon and oysters and escargot and tomatoes and asparagus and avocadoes and parmesan and buttery breadcrumbs on top! All those aphrodisiacs!”

“I’m surprised they didn’t put chocolate on it,” Vincent said dryly, looking at his slice. It looked okay. It even smelled good. But those were a lot of strange ingredients, most of which he did not like at all. 

“Bottoms up!” Reeve said, always game for something new, and often to his regret, though that never seemed to stop him from plunging into the next venture. He took a big bite and chewed, a thoughtful look on his face. “Not bad, not bad,” he nodded and kept eating.

Vincent could do no less. He braced himself and took a bite, chewed just a couple of times and swallowed as fast as possible. “Mmhm,” he said. “Good.” He took a swig of his wine, then continued to plow through his meal.

“I’m so glad you like it!” Reeve said happily. “We haven’t had many dates and I wanted this to be just right. I don’t know about you but I love coming up here. The view is magnificent.” Reeve’s eyes slid sideways to Vincent stoically eating his pizza, and he stumbled a bit again. “Uuhh…yes! The view! I only wish the city lights weren’t so bright. It’s almost impossible to see the stars, even on really clear nights. But the moon is different. When it’s full it’s quite the sight! I brought binoculars. They’re good enough to see some of the details on the lunar surface, and, of course, to appreciate the eclipse.” 

Reeve was gesturing as he talked…to the sky, to the cityscape, to the binoculars waiting beside him. It was one of the things Vincent liked best about him: being quite a silent person himself, having someone around who liked to do most of the talking was a relief. And truly, Reeve almost always had interesting things to say. His mind jumped from subject to subject; he was knowledgeable in many areas; he was involved in many projects, both under Shin-Ra’s aegis and not; and his voice was easy to listen to. In fact, concentrating on eating with not tasting, and with the steady drone of the engineer’s voice in the background, Vincent was lulled into a sort of trance.

“Vince? Did you hear me? I asked you if you wanted more pizza before it gets cold.” Reeve was leaning forward across the table earnestly.

“What? Oh, sure, one more piece, I guess.” Vincent reluctantly held his plate out and Reeve set the biggest piece onto it. “You sure do like this kind, don’t you? I’ll have to remember that for next time.”

Vincent gave him a weak smile and picked up the pizza while Reeve topped up his wine.

“The moon is starting to rise, there,” Reeve pointed. “Not too long now. The eclipse doesn’t actually last for a long time, so, after it’s over, maybe you could stop by my place. I have a couple of other moons I’d like to show you.”

He said it so casually, with such a bland expression, that Vincent almost didn’t catch it. But in a split second, his brain processed what his ears had heard; his startled gaze shot to Reeve’s face and he saw the devilish glint in his eye; and he drew in a breath to say…he wasn’t sure _what_ he was going to say to that bald invitation, but whatever it was immediately became irrelevant. The bite of pizza he had just taken zoomed down his trachea and became lodged there.

At first, Reeve thought that Vincent’s gulp and gurgle and gaping were just him being all adorably embarrassed and shy and awkward, as usual. But when his eyes started to bulge and his normally pale complexion started to darken and his hands clawed at his shirt collar, he realized that there was something very wrong. As Vincent staggered to his feet in airless panic, Reeve jumped up so fast that his chair went spinning backward. He dodged behind the taller man, wrapped his arms around him, jammed his overlapping fists under his sternum and thrust upward as hard as he could. Once, twice…and suddenly he heard Vincent make a whooping gagging sound, and he folded limply over Reeve’s arms as he started to breathe again.

Reeve didn’t let him go just yet. “Vince? Hey, Vincent, are you okay?” he asked anxiously, giving him a little shake, prepared to bear hug him again if needed. 

Vincent waved a hand weakly, still trying to catch his breath. “Y-yeah,” he rasped. “Th-thanks.”

“No problem.” Reeve slowly eased his grip and helped Vincent sit back down into his chair. He moved to crouch in front of him, looking anxiously up into his face. Vincent looked terrible. His bun had started to unravel, letting long strands of black hair straggle down unevenly. The poor buttons had finally lost their valiant battle and most of them had popped off. Vincent had managed to yank open his collar and tie, completing the look of total dishevelment. He sat with his head thrown back, swallowing repeatedly and taking big gulps of air through his open mouth. Despite the seriousness of the situation, a small corner of Reeve’s mind couldn’t help noticing how sexy he looked. But of course, he was _mostly_ concerned that he seemed to be recovering.

Vincent let his eyes close, not thinking of anything except the huge relief of being able to breathe again. His throat hurt like hell, and so did his middle, but the sweet, sweet air was flowing freely in and out of his lungs and the panic of asphyxiation was slowly subsiding. He vaguely heard Reeve’s voice in the background but didn’t really register what he was saying until he felt a glass being pressed into his hand. Gratefully he took a drink; the wine burned a bit in his raw throat, but it was better than nothing. Slowly he sat up and got his bearings. Reeve had pulled his own chair up near him, and was leaning forward, watching him carefully. And then he realized his shirt was open most of the way and his tie was askew. No wonder he could breathe more easily. He’d have to pay for the shirt, but at the moment that meant very little. 

“Thanks,” he whispered again. Reeve nodded. “No more pizza, okay?” He never wanted to see another piece of pizza in his life. Reeve nodded again and grinned. 

Vincent relaxed and continued to sip his wine and recover. Reeve got his own glass, and the binoculars, and adjusted his chair so they sat side by side. The moon was fully risen and the eclipse had started, and Reeve quietly focused on adjusting the binoculars and scanning what was visible as the moonlight slowly dimmed. Finally he passed them to Vincent. “Take a look,” he said. “Take your time.” He sat back, folding his hands over his stomach and staring at the lunar spectacle. “It always amazes me, to be able to see the surface of another world, so close, and yet so far away. It’s beautiful. And humbling.” 

Vincent glanced over at him. Reeve’s lips quirked up a little on one side, and he had a faraway look in his eyes. Vincent thought _he_ was looking at the more beautiful view, and that _he_ also felt humbled, by the privilege of having found someone he loved so much, and having that person return his love. It was something he never thought he’d experience.

“Oh!” he said suddenly, reaching into his jacket pocket. “I almost forgot to give you this.” 

“What is it?” Reeve asked curiously, taking the little package from him. 

“Just something I found. I thought you’d like it,” Vincent mumbled and looked away, then back again to watch as Reeve unwrapped the box, eager as a child.

“Oh. Oh, my!” Reeve held up a metallic cylinder. It flashed dull gold in the faint light. He pulled one end gently: it extended, and he was holding an old-fashioned telescope. 

“It’s an antique. Brass, I believe,” Vincent said. “I found it in Junon sea port, at a pawn shop. See the inscription engraved there, under the biggest ring? I did a little research and found that it came from The _Centennial Osprey_. Have you heard of her?”

“Of course!” Reeve exclaimed, turning the telescope over and over, running reverent fingers along its length. “It’s the ship that made the Costa run in less than twelve hours! She’s a legend!” He turned glowing eyes to Vincent. “Thank you so much! It’s perfect! I love it!” 

Vincent felt a warm glow that he was not sure was self-consciousness or happiness or both. But it was a good feeling, to have pleased Reeve so much. Then he gestured with his chin. “The moon,” he said. “Can you see through it? Does it still work?”

Reeve made a little excited noise and turned his attention back to the sky, scanning around with his telescope while Vincent used the binoculars. 

“Yes…yes…it works just fine,” Reeve murmured happily. Then he suddenly swung the telescope to point directly at Vincent, squinching one eye shut and yelling “AHOY! AHOY THERE, MATEY! AVAST, YE SCURVY LANDLUBBER! HEAVE TO AND PREPARE TO BE BOARDED!”

Vincent jerked back. “Stop that!” he growled. “Give me that back!” He yanked the telescope away from the giggling Reeve and clicked it back into its compact form, putting it back in his pocket. “You just had to do that, didn’t you.”

“But it’s my present. I can use it to look at whatever I want,” Reeve pouted. “And now I can’t see the moon.”

“Come here then,” Vincent said, scooting his chair a bit closer to Reeve’s. “We’ll share the binoculars.”

Reeve snuggled closer than was strictly necessary. “Alright. But will you give it back to me later?”

Vincent thought for a minute, then relented. “Fine. Later. I’ll give you whatever you want. Later.”

“How much later is later?”

“Later.”

“Alright. I can wait. Love is patient, love is kind, love saved you from choking to death.”

“And love ate the pizza that almost killed it, and love is wearing pants that are cutting off its circulation, and love puts up with pirates yelling in its face,” Vincent snorted.

“The moon is coming out again.” Reeve tucked his hand around Vincent’s arm. “This was a good date. We’re so lucky, aren’t we.”

“It was.” Vincent patted Reeve’s hand and sighed happily in the moonlight. “We sure are.”


End file.
